


It's not like I'm falling in love

by BarricadeKitten (Dominatrix)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 4+1, Also Arctic Monkeys are Grantaire's favourite band, Also these two are completely oblivious it's ridiculous, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basically cuddling, Dancing, Enjolras is actually cute, Everything is sweet and nothing hurts, First Kiss, Fluff, General domestic bliss, Hair Braiding, Having lunch together, Holding Hands, I swear to god these two, M/M, Movie Night, Painting, They don't even know they're flirting, and romantic, ridiculous fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/BarricadeKitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Enjolras and Grantaire are completely oblivious that they're on a date.<br/>And one time they are not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The colour of desire

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea, it's so sweet my teeth are rotting, and I probably shouldn't already upload that because I've got two other multi-chap Enjoltaire stories. But well, the heart wants what it wants.  
> Hope you enjoy.  
> Love, Liz x

When Enjolras hears the impatient knock on the door, he already knows who is standing in front of it.

He still groans when he taps to open up and looks into Grantaire’s face.

“You know that you don’t really have to do this” he reminds him for what seems like the thousandth time.

Grantaire simply makes a disapproving noise and wrinkles his forehead. “Nonsense. I ruined your jumper, I’m gonna buy you a new one. You don’t have to come with me.”

Enjolras just raises an eyebrow while he plucks his keys from the hook next to the door and snatches his red scarf before he winds it tightly around his neck.

He tries not to eye up and down Grantaire’s body too obviously, and fails. His friend (are they friends though?) is wearing old, ragged Converse, a ripped black pair of skinny jeans, an oversize shirt that looks light grey but probably was white once, and a dark purple cardigan.

To brace him against the early January chill he is wearing a pair of ridiculous fingerless gloves – Enjolras has never really grasped the concept of these – and a bright blue beanie pulled over the unruly mop of black curls.

“Let’s just say I don’t necessarily trust your… _fashion_ sense. Bye, Courfeyrac” he calls over the shoulder while he pulls the door close behind him, but his flat mate doesn’t answer. He’s got someone around right now, and Enjolras does not want to imagine what they are probably doing that keeps him from answering. Really, really not.

Grantaire just chuckles while they step out onto the street. “We could have prevented that whole thing if you wouldn’t have been so ridiculously childish.”

Enjolras narrows his eyes at him and pushes a stray strand of hair out of his face when the wind tugs at his blonde curls.

“As far as I remember it, it was _you_ who flicked his paintbrush at me and made a total mess on my jumper. And I swear to God, R, if you’re opening your mouth to make a dick joke I’m gonna scream” he warns, and Grantaire closes his mouth, pouting a bit.

“It was a really good one.”

It turns out that going shopping with Grantaire is rather fun. He usually pulls out the most atrocious pieces and offers them to Enjolras as if they were the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, whistling while he searches through the stacks and aisles.

“That’s a nice song” Enjolras says casually while he stands a few feet away, considering if he should try the black jumper he is holding in his hands right now.

“It’s from Moulin Rouge” Grantaire replies, with such steadiness in his voice as if Enjolras should know who or what a Moulin Rouge is.

“Is that an album?”

He thinks that Grantaire has never looked more horrified in his whole life while he rushes over to Enjolras, suddenly only a few centimeters away from his face. “Please don’t tell me you have never seen the clusterfuck of awesomeness and emotions that is Moulin Rouge?”

Enjolras just laughs nervously and takes a tentative step back. “I don’t think a clusterfuck is a correct measurement.”

“You, my friend, have no idea about anything, and I will not take you serious as long as you haven’t seen Moulin Rouge.”

Enjolras just rolls his eyes, then points to the scrunched up fabric between Grantaire’s hands. “What’s that?”

He looks down as if he forgot he held something, and puts it in Enjolras’s hands. “I thought you might like that one. It’s red.”

Enjolras takes the jumper, stretches it away from his body to take it all in, and nods.

“Yes, most definitely red” he decides after close examination, a smile curling in his lips when he sees Grantaire throw his hands in the air in acted exasperation.

“You’re such a dork. Go try it on.”

As soon as Enjolras pulls the jumper over his head in the changing room he knows that it’s the one. It’s ridiculously comfortable, and his favourite colour, and he can pull the sleeves up to the middle of his fingers, which is good for someone who is always freezing. Smiling widely, he pulls the curtain open to face Grantaire.

“That one” he states. “What do you think?”

Grantaire takes his whole figure in slowly and thoroughly, and nods. “Proves that I am simply amazing at everything. Again.”

Enjolras wants to scowl, but he can’t fight the tiny smile that forms on his lips.

“Is it soft?” Grantaire asks. He knows that Enjolras can’t stand itchy fabrics on his skin. He can’t even remember why he knows. Enjolras stretches an arm out, hand still half-covered by the sleeve. He makes a sharp intake of breath when Grantaire lifts his hand to his cheek and slightly rubs the side of his face against the fabric, which means Enjolras is effectively stroking Grantaire’s cheek.

“What…” Enjolras starts when he draws his hand back after Grantaire nods approvingly. Grantaire raises his glove-covered hands in excuse. “I worked with acrylics the last weeks, and they dry out my skin so much I can barely feel anything. They’re a bitch to get out again, and the cleaning just messes up my skin.”

“Yea, my jumper can tell loads of stories about how hard it is to get acrylics out” Enjolras answers while he walks back into the changing room to strip his new favourite piece of clothing off.

“You’re never gonna let me live that one down, are you?” Grantaire asks loudly.

“It was one and a half weeks ago!”

“As I said, ridiculous.”

They end up picking at each other continuously until they’re standing in front of the door to Enjolras’s building. But this time, it’s always said with a half-grin and a friendly sparkle in their eyes, not with angry roughness in their voices. It's a nice change.

“Thanks for today” Enjolras says, fumbling for his keys. “And finding that jumper. It’s nice.”

Grantaire just grins, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “See, you can trust my fashion sense after all. See you around, Apollo.” He smiles again, winks, and turns to walk down the street.

About an hour later, Enjolras’s phone buzzes.

_I’m gonna rip you apart at every meeting as long as you refuse to watch Moulin Rouge._

**You wouldn’t do that.**

_Every time. Especially when I know you’re right._

**You’re such a child.**

_Next week Tuesday, eight o’clock, my place?_

He shakes his head with a chuckle, but replies almost instantly.

**Alright.**


	2. How wonderful life is now you're in the world

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The level of adorableness is getting higher with each chapter, I swear.  
> (Also there will be loads of pining in the later ones, with none of them realising they are actually pining. These two dorks.)  
> Love, Liz x

Enjolras could have not been less prepared for this evening.

He thought he would be alright, he has watched movies with Grantaire before. Mostly with their friends around, shushing each other to keep the noise down, which was impossible in their group. Especially, it seemed, in situations it would be better to shut your freaking mouth and just _watch the sodding movie_. But still, he’s going to be fine. It’s not like he’s uncomfortable around R, not at all.

They disagree most of the time, yes, but it seems like lately Grantaire seems calmer, more collected and rational. Which doesn’t mean that he’s not a complete pain in the neck anymore, but Enjolras tolerates him now. If someone calls them friends now, he doesn’t laugh manically anymore.

That’s true progress right there.

When he stands in front of Grantaire and Éponine’s apartment, holding a bag of crisps and a bottle of that raspberry smoothie he knows Grantaire adores – he doesn’t dare to bring wine because it’s Grantaire and alcohol and these two don’t work that well together – he is prepared for a nice movie night with some playful bickering that has somehow replaced the biting remarks that hurt a bit afterward.

He is not prepared for the pain.

Grantaire has already placed a huge box of tissues on their couch – Éponine is on a date with someone, and hopes she won’t actually come home tonight – next to some bottles of water and two glasses. Enjolras pops an eyebrow and points at the tissues while he strips off his coat and shakes his curls out when he pulls the black beanie off his head. 

“That bad?” he asks. Grantaire just smiles wickedly, already knowing what will happen. It’s one of his all-time-favourite movies, so he’s seen it about a million times, not even exaggerating much.

“Oh, you have no idea, Apollo.”

That night, after nearly three years that they have known each other, Grantaire realizes for the first time that Enjolras tears up so quickly it should be ridiculous. In a really weird way, it’s actually quite sweet to see the hard façade crumble to be replaced by Enjolras having his knees drawn up against his chest and sobbing his soul out.

Actually, he starts crying during the first scene already, and at first Grantaire thinks he is choking to death right next to him, which is why he pulls his eyes off the screen reluctantly to see Enjolras next to him, face in his hands, peeking at the screen through between his fingers, shaking his head and drawing heavy breaths that sounds suspiciously like sobs.

Grantaire wordlessly reaches out for the tissue box, plucks one and holds it in front of Enjolras, who takes it with the comment: “I think I’m allergic against something in your flat.”

Grantaire smirks and turns back to the laptop standing on the couch table. “’Course you are.”

It doesn’t really get better. Enjolras’s feelings shift from incredible sadness to outright rage when he understands the concept of the Moulin Rouge, and starts to rant loudly about the procedure of people selling their bodies, and Grantaire thinks about replying, but Enjolras goes back to being a sobbing little mess on the couch after a few minutes. Grantaire simply leans back, takes sips of the raspberry smoothie he knows the other man hates and gets told off by a red-nosed, puffy-eyed Enjolras when he chews too loud during the Elephant Love Medley.

Enjolras is not stupid, Grantaire already knew that. Basically, from the first moment Nicole Kidman breathes heavily, he suspects that shit is about to go down, and as the film proceeds, he starts making a noise that sounds like the video of a whining cat Combeferre showed Grantaire the other day. When Christian and Satine fight, he tries to yell at the screen, but his voice breaks, and Grantaire puts a glass of water in his hands.

“Drink that. Otherwise, you’ll be absolutely dehydrated at the end of the movie.” Enjolras looks at him with a panicked expression in his eyes, and because he is breathing so fast and deep, he starts hiccuping. Grantaire wishes he could preserve this memory forever. It's hilarious.

“It’s gonna stay that bad?”

The dark-haired man laughs. “Oh no. It’s gonna get much, much worse.”

It does. Enjolras is not happy. Not at all. When there are still ten minutes to go, Grantaire actually thinks about pausing the movie for a moment to get Enjolras down from what seems like an upright panic attack. He is shaking visibly, and clawing at his hair when he sees everything go down into a pile of sadness and misery. Grantaire simply puts a hand that’s supposed to be comforting on Enjolras’s forearm, and regrets it instantly as Enjolras clutches onto him for dear life. He doesn’t let go for the rest of the film, and somehow Grantaire finds himself rubbing soothing circles with his thumb while they watch the end.

When the end credits start, Grantaire carefully retreats his hand from Enjolras’s grip to turn off the movie and put the DVD back in its case. He gives the other man a minute before he turns to face him.

“Are you alright?”

“No, I’m not alright. God, Grantaire. How could you do that to me? That was terrible!”

Grantaire frowns and gives Enjolras water again, the bottle this time. He empties his within seconds, it seems. “So you didn’t like it?”

“I loved it. But it was so fucking painful. I think I’ll never be happy again.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic, Apollo” he smirks at him and pushes a stray strand of blond hair behind his ear.

“I am so going to blame you if I can’t sleep tonight, R. I swear.” Enjolras sounds half like himself again, all burning passion and anger again, but it doesn’t quite match his still hitching breathing pattern and the tear lines on his cheeks.

“Oh, I’m looking quite forward to it.”

He has Enjolras drink another bottle of water and splash his face with cold water before he leaves – “Just so Courfeyrac doesn’t come after me thinking I said something nasty to you” – and has to suffer through a few half-hearted accusations of making him go through this agony on purpose – “I have been discovered, Enjolras” he cries out dramatically, clutching his chest. “Everything I do is just to bring you misery. What a dark world we are living in.” – before he closes the door behind Enjolras, still smiling.

This time it’s his phone which buzzes first.

** Those were the most painful two hours of my life. **

_ How about the time Combeferre made us listen to this Finnish metal band? _

** Still worse. Close, though. **

** I’m picking the film next time. Friday at 8, my place? Cour is out. **

_ Sounds good. I’m not having you use your imaginary allergies as an excuse for your sobbing again. _

** I was not sobbing. **

_ Oh believe me, Apollo, you were. _

** Shut up. **

_ The greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return. _

** Fuck you. **

_ How wonderful life is now you’re in the world. _

** I hate you. **

Grantaire sleeps well that night.

 


	3. Don't you forget about me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention these two are absolutely ridiculous and in love? No?  
> Well now I have.  
> Love, Liz x

The next days are filled with peace. No trap doors whatsoever, just outright peace. It's scary. Grantaire even stops arguing harshly at the meetings when he knows Enjolras is right. Usually, he still does it for the sake of fighting. Not now, though. Their friends start wondering if he's sick, or dying, or if he's actually plotting to kill Enjolras and wants to lull him in safety.

“Guys, guys” Grantaire says with a laugh, raising his hands in defense. “If I wanted to be totally unsuspicious, I would still tear him apart. Because that's what I always do.”

“So why don't you do it now?” Éponine asks, eyebrows raised in accusation.

“Don't look at me like that, beautiful, I can't even take you serious with that obscene hickey on your neck. Does it have its own soul?” He winks at her when she blushes and rearranges her scarf. Apparently, the date went well. She has only been at their flat to get new clothes the last few days. And she smells like domestic bliss. Terrible.

So in short, all is well.

Almost.

Enjolras still gets these horribly unsettling texts from Grantaire, to the most ungodly hours. One time, on Thursday afternoon, he's lying on the couch, reading a gross textbook on political communication in the 1870s. It's so dry Enjolras can actually feel his brain crumble into ash. When he hears his phone chime on the kitchen table, he calls out to Courfeyrac, who is making dinner for himself at the moment.

“Hey. Mind reading that out for me?” Courfeyrac is one of his best friends, he trusts him with everything. Why would he care if he reads his texts?

A choking sound makes him flop onto his back and sit up, feeling slightly dizzy. “Courf? You alright?”

His friend just stares at him, then at the display of Enjolras's phone. “It's Grantaire. I don't understand.”

Enjolras is on his feet in seconds, already walking over with big paces. “Is he hurt? What's going on? Courf. Talk to me.”

“Look” he says, and stretches Enjolras's phone towards its owner.

_ Come what may, I will love you until my dying day. _

Enjolras chuckles until he looks up at his aghast friend. Well, this isn't awkward. At all.

“No. _No._ Courf, you're getting that wrong. It's a quote from this one song from this movie we've been watching the other day.”

He nods slowly. “O-kay. That makes sense...I guess?”

Enjolras huffs out a breath. “Wait a second.”

Grantaire is on the line within seconds, and Enjolras puts him on loudspeaker.

“Apollo, light of my dark life. How can I be of service?” His tone is mocking, but sunny. Enjolras still chuckles, and Courfeyrac still looks like he just shot Bambi's mother.

“Please tell Courfeyrac the origin of your latest text message. He's kinda freaking out.”

For a long ten seconds, all you hear at the other end is Grantaire's laughter. Enjolras's lips twitch, tempted to form a smile.

“Courf, please be assured that you didn't miss anything. We watched Moulin Rouge, Enjolras cried, it was hilarious, and now I'm enjoying myself with tormenting him.”

“Charming as always” Enjolras replies drily, but with clear amusement in his voice. “See you tomorrow. Eight.”

When he puts the phone into the back pocket of his jeans, Courfeyrac looks better. Well, there is a bit of colour in his cheeks, at least. “Alright. I believe you. Sorry for freaking out.”

Enjolras gives him a pat on the shoulder as he walks up to his bedroom, shaking his head with a low chuckle.

When Grantaire knocks on Enjolras's door the next evening, he is greeted with “Oh my god you should have seen his face, it was amazing!” He smiles and steps into the cosy flat. Enjolras seems to be in a brilliant mood today, even if he looks a bit tired.

“You alright, Enj?” he asks while he takes his coat and boots off. “You look like a stampede ran you down.”

“Long live the king” Enjolras replies instantly, eyes on Grantaire's face, his lips forming a grin when the dark-haired man flinches and glares at him.

“Lion King, really? Low blow, Apollo.” You wouldn't guess it, but Grantaire has a quite weak spot for Disney, especially the classics.

“So, what are we having today?” he asks while he collapses on the huge couch. Enjolras turns around to him after he puts the DVD into the device underneath the TV.

“Common knowledge.” He sits down next to Grantaire, reaching out for the remote on the couch table.

“I swear, if this is a documentary about the French Revolution or the Uprising of 1832 or something, I'm gonna walk out” Grantaire warns.

Enjolras punches his arm playfully. “No, you dork. The Breakfast Club. I think I remember you saying you've never seen that one before.”

He is met with a laugh. “Yea, I said that like a few months ago. How much space is there in your brain?” he asks and ruffles through Enjolras's hair shortly before leaning back, spreading his arms out on the back rest of the couch.

“Alright. Educate me.”

It turns out that Grantaire is not a fan of this movie. Not at all. Like, not in the slightest. Enjolras enjoys the movie, the different characters, but he notices that Grantaire seems incredibly bored. He leans back against the couch, head brushing Grantaire's shoulder slightly.

“Don't like it?”

Grantaire shrugs. “Not sure yet. Maybe...The one guy is a bit too close for comfort.”

Enjolras scoots away instantly, but Grantaire pulls him back with an impatient eye roll. The blonde ends up with his head on Grantaire's chest, and suddenly his limbs are too heavy to move. “Not you, doofus. That Bender guy. I get him. How he acts. And...feels. And stuff.”

“Oh” he replies lowly, voice half-muffled by speaking against Grantaire's black t-shirt.

“Wanna talk about it?” He ends the question with a yawn.

Grantaire chuckles and runs his fingers through Enjolras's hair softly. “Yea, right. Let's not do that. Especially not when you're basically falling asleep with eyes wide open.”

“Am not” Enjolras protests, but closing his eyes sounds like such a tempting idea.

He still feels the soft touch on his scalp though, and sometimes light tugging, enough to keep him awake but far too little to actually hurt.

“Are you braiding my hair?” he asks, only watching the dancing scene on the TV with half-opened eyes.

The touch stops suddenly, and he feels Grantaire pull away his hands. “If I said yes, hypothetically...On a scale of one to ten, how mad would you be?”

Enjolras yawns, shifting a bit. “You know what. I don't even care. Do what you have to do.”

He doesn't survive much longer, about three minutes later he's asleep. Grantaire is still playing with his hair, alternating in running his hands through it and twisting the curls around his index finger before letting them spring free again. Somehow, when Grantaire actually finds himself smile at the ending scene of the film, Enjolras has managed to curl up next to Grantaire, head in his lap, sleeping soundly.

Grantaire can't help himself; he has to smirk down on their fearless and ferocious leader, so peaceful in sleep. He is reaching out for the remote on the couch table, trying not to wake Enjolras.

Having an impeccable sense for timing, this is the moment when Courfeyrac steps in.

He blinks, and actually checks if he entered the right flat when he sees the two men on the couch. Opening his mouth, he is cut short by Grantaire, who is pressing an index finger to his lips.

“He's asleep” he mouths.

“Oh really? I couldn't tell” is the silent reply.

Grantaire grins and flips him off, carefully lifting Enjolras's head off his lap to scoot to the side beneath him, and putting a pillow under his head as a replacement when he gets up. Courfeyrac just raises his eyebrows, shrugs his shoulders and goes to bed. None of their friends would believe him anyway if he texted them now.

Grantaire's looking around in the dim light of the TV, searching for pen and paper. Finally finding it, he scribbles down a note in his terrible handwriting and puts it on the couch table, so prominent that Enjolras will have to find it when he wakes up. Covering him with a blanket, he gives Enjolras's hair a last stroke and turns off the TV before he puts on coat and boots and leaves the flat.

 

The next morning, Enjolras wakes up feeling quite confused, but rested. He smiles at the note on the table.

_ Your taste in movies is terrible. Lunch on Monday at my place? I'm painting. Don't wear clothes you love. You might get ridiculous again and then I'll have to flick you with my paint brush again. No innuendo. I swear. R. _

He is reaching into his back pocket for his phone, his fingers tapping out a quick response.

** You know nothing about great movies. Take-away? I don't trust your cooking skills. **

_ Well, at least I didn't fall asleep. Take-away is fine. But you wound me with your lack of trust. _

** Let's call it instinct of self preservation. **

_ See you Monday, then. _

** See you then. Looking forward to it. **

Grantaire smiles. He doesn't even know why.

 


	4. Stubborn and delusional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting real with our two favourite dorks. Well, slowly.  
> Only one more chapter to go my kittens. I hope you're excited!  
> Love, Liz x

On Saturday night, Grantaire receives a text from Courfeyrac.

** Is there anything you want to tell me? **

_ Erm...No. _

** There is nothing or you don't wanna tell me? **

_ There is nothing. Like, nothing at all. _

** Hm. **

_ Courf. _

** What? **

_ Spit it out. What's on your mind? _

** Nothing. Just...I've been dating this guy for weeks now, but we sure as hell don't look as domestic as E and you. **

_ Domestic? _

** You know, with his head in your lap and your hand in his hair and that “Don't wake him up; he's asleep” thing. **

_ Are you serious? _

_ He literally fell asleep on top of me. There wasn't much I could do. _

** And I guess that your hands jut got tangled in his hair on their own? ;) **

_ Courf, please don't use smileys. It terrifies me. _

_ What are you trying to imply anyway? _

_ Enjolras and me are not dating, if that's what you mean. _

** Of course you're not ;) **

_ Courf! _

_ I'm not kidding. We are not dating. _

** I promise I won't tell anyone. **

_ Not. Dating. _

** You're stubborn. **

_ And you're delusional. _

Grantaire frowns when he pockets his phone again. That was...weird.

He barely makes it through the weekend, Éponine had a fight with her boyfriend – about the fact that he doesn't want to be her boyfriend. Or does he and she doesn't want him to be? Grantaire lost it somewhere – in their flat, which was loud. Then they made up. In her bedroom. Which was louder. And took until about 3 a.m. Grantaire was lying awake in his bed, cursing the thin walls and putting in ear plugs in the end to block out most of the noise. Just too much information about Éponine he didn't quite need.

So he is really, _really_ glad when Monday arrives, and he can actually sleep in because today is a painting day, and he never makes any appointments on his painting days. Well. Except lunch with Enjolras, but that's not the same. He doesn't know why exactly he invited him to join him for lunch today, when he makes sure that he schedules his painting days so that Éponine is out of the house for sure. He usually paints when he's alone. It relieves him of a lot of pressure to not have someone stand over his shoulder and watch him work. He can't explain to himself why he wouldn't mind with Enjolras.

When he hears a knock on the door, he's literally elbow-deep in paint, and he's just screaming “Come on in!” instead of opening the door himself. He is not very fond of cleaning paint off the door so Éponine won't freak out completely when she gets home. Again.

Enjolras comes in wearing a smile, old, faded jeans and the paint-stained jumper that started it all.

“I see you're busy” he says, pointing at the canvas behind Grantaire. It's only half-finished, but already one of the few pieces Grantaire knows he will like when he is done. Most of the time, he is unhappy with how some of the details turned out, or that the colouring looks different than he had imagined. This, though, is like he wants it to be.

“That's probably a horrible question to ask” Enjolras starts, and Grantaire cocks his head, “but what exactly does it show?”

The artist's lips split into a grin. “I have no idea. Seriously. I'm not trying to be all mysterious genius here. I woke up with that picture in my mind, and I knew I wanted to paint it. No idea what I mean with it, though.”

Enjolras narrows his eyes a bit, still looking at the painting, as if he's trying to find out what it shows. Looking a bit frustrated, he shrugs his shoulders in the end. “I'm starving. Lunch?”

Grantaire smiles, nods, and walks past him to the kitchen table, where he has several order-in menus spread out. When Enjolras appears next to him, he elbows him in the side lightly, leaving a bright blue spot on his already messed-up jumper. The eyes of the two men meet, and for a second it is completely and utterly quiet before Enjolras shakes his head with a laugh. “Oh, R, you are so going to regret this.”

He reaches out for his forearm to pick up some red paint on his finger, and smears it onto his neck with a wide grin. Only a split second after, Grantaire is behind him, basically pulling him to his chest and rubbing his arms against him feverishly, as if he's trying to warm him, but actually just transferring the paint from him onto the squealing Enjolras. 

“Alright” he says after he lets go of the blonde and wipes his hands at his pair of work jeans, which is also already covered in loads of different paint stains. “Let's get some food.”

Luckily, the food arrives after about twenty minutes. Enjolras forgot to have breakfast because he was working, and Grantaire simply got up too late for having breakfast at all. So there isn't really much conversation when they take the containers and settle down on the couch to eat. As always when they order at the Chinese-but-not-quite-Chinese place, Grantaire takes Enjolras's container and picks out the pineapple pieces to put them on top of his own food.

“I still don't get why you order this every single time when you can't stand pineapple” he mutters, poking around in Enjolras's fried noodles with his chopsticks.

“And I tell you every time: The sauce is amazing” Enjolras replies, sighing. They seriously have this argument every time they order at that place. Every. Single. Time. It's actually a miracle none of their friends have tried to kill them yet. Or maybe they have, and are just really bad.

“Also you love pineapple, so nothing goes to waste.”

Grantaire just shrugs in a _Fair enough_ motion, and starts eating.

There isn't much conversation, both men are just too starved to be decent. The first time their comfortable silence is broken is when Enjolras makes a disapproving sound and holds his chopsticks out to Grantaire. “You missed one.”

Grantaire grips Enjolras's wrist to steady it and plucks the piece of pineapple off with his lips. Watching how the blonde man grimaces, he makes a big deal of how amazing this pineapple is. “Delicious."

When Enjolras pretends to choke to death in disgust – quite convincingly, actually, he would deserve some applause – Grantaire puts his food down on the table and flings himself at the blonde.

“I'll save you, Apollo” he cries out, pretending to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre, which only makes both of them burst out laughing.

When Enjolras suddenly goes very still underneath Grantaire's body, the artist looks down on him. “Apollo?”

Enjolras is not looking at him, but at the half-finished painting. Lots of harsh strokes in red, black and blue, softened by the occasional gold in some of the shadows. “This is probably ridiculous, but it looks like it's two people dancing.”

Grantaire pushes himself off Enjolras, and flops down on his seat again, turning to the canvas and narrowing his eyes a bit. “Yea...I can see that. Question is: Why would I possibly paint that?”

Enjolras shrugs and continues eating. “I don't know” he mumbles. “Because dancing is nice, I guess?”

Grantaire gets back to his food as well, poking his noodles. “I have never slow-danced in my life.”

“Really?” the blonde asks with his mouth slightly full, and Grantaire can only barely restrain himself from telling his impeccable leader off for that. They haven't been fighting in weeks. He doesn't want to end the lucky streak just now.

“Nope. I’d love to, though. It’s one of these cheesy, cliché movie moments everybody wants to have.”

“I don’t.”

Grantaire chuckles. “Of course not, Apollo. Greek gods don’t slow-dance.” He hears Enjolras sigh – he knows that the blonde has never really liked the fact that Grantaire compares him to a Greek god, but just look at him. They continue to eat in silence, until Enjolras speaks up a few minutes later.

“What would be your slow-dance song, then?”

“I have no idea.”

They finish lunch, and Enjolras sticks around for another hour or so, watching Grantaire paint. He only looks up from his textbook occasionally, and there isn't really much to see anyway because Grantaire has his back turned towards him, thus blocking most of the canvas from his view, but it still happens that Enjolras remembers his textbook only a few minutes later. If Grantaire notices the glances, he doesn't say anything, just keeps on doing what he does.

Enjolras packs his things reluctantly, just in time so he can change his clothes and won't be late to his lecture, and waves goodbye to Grantaire, who throws him a crooked grin, again covered in paint all over.

An hour later, Enjolras gets a message.

_ No 1 Party Anthem, Arctic Monkeys. That’s my song. _

He listens to the song once that evening, and then a few times the day after.

Before he knows it, he listens to it on repeat on his way to uni on Wednesday, softly swaying to the beat, completely oblivious to the stares of some of the other people on the train. He has his forehead leaned against the pole he is holding on to – Joly would freak out if he would see him, basically asking for all the bacteria to jump on him – with eyes closed. And suddenly, a very familiar dark-haired artist comes up in his mind, dancing slowly in beat with the song.

This is the moment when Enjolras realises.

It takes him about ten hours of active denial, and he even makes some spreadsheets and lists in class, until he gives in to the nagging feeling in his chest.

_ I am in love with Grantaire. _

_ Shit. _

 


	5. Before the moment's gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's done! And it's fluffy, tooth-rottingly so. God. These two.  
> Thank you for everyone who read this, and gave Kudos, and of course to all those beautiful kittens who wrote me a nice comment. I love you all :)  
> Oh, and [this](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZY17qUQhfkc) is the song :)
> 
> Love, Liz x

 

The rest of the day is kind of a blur. He is incredibly glad that he hasn't set a meeting for today, he is pretty sure that he wouldn't manage one coherent sentence with Grantaire in the same room. Courfeyrac storms past him when he opens the door to their flat, only frowning at him with a “What happened to you? You look terrible” before he grabs his keys. “Text me if you need anything, I'm out” he throws over his shoulder before the door closes and Enjolras is alone.

He paces.

You wouldn't guess there is enough room in his and Courfeyrac's flat to pace for about two hours, but there is. In the end, Enjolras sighs and takes out his phone to text Courfeyrac. He did say to contact him if he needed anything. And Enjolras most certainly does need advice.

**I am an idiot.**

_Yes. Yes you are._

**You don't even know what this is about.**

_No I don't. You're still an idiot though._

_Come on Enj, what's wrong?_

**It's Grantaire.**

_Oh dear._

**What?**

_I know where this is going._

**Really? Because I don't.**

_Yes._

_No offense, Enj, but you are the most oblivious guy I know._

_Well, apart from R, maybe._

**I'm not oblivious!**

**Well.**

**Maybe, I am.**

**Help me, please?**

_What do you want me to say?_

**I want you to make me stop being in love.**

_No._

**Why?**

_Because he makes you happy, and if you weren't too stupid for your own sake, you'd see that._

**I'll screw it up, Courf. I know it.**

_You won't._

**What am I supposed to do, then?**

_Ask him out._

**I can't.**

_Why? You did it before, didn't you? Meet up, just the two of you._

**Yea I know. But now it would be a date, wouldn't it?**

_That's what you want, Enj. And you know it._

_Also, what is the worst that could happen?_

**He could say no.**

**He could say yes.**

_Ask him. Give him a call. No texting!_

**Courf!**

_Don't whine at me. Call him._

_Just one thing._

**What?**

_Be kind._

**Why are you so sure it's going to work?**

_You don't see the way you look at each other. I do._

Enjolras stares at the last text and groans. He looks at his phone as if it's his worst enemy, and the sole thought of calling Grantaire makes his heart skip a couple of beats. His head feels dizzy, his palms are sweaty, and his throat is dry. Maybe he's sick, and should call Joly instead. Maybe he's having a heart attack. Or maybe he should get over himself and just call Grantaire. Yes. He'll do that.

He doesn't.

And it's stupid, because it's not a big deal, except that it is, very much so.

He misses Grantaire, misses spending time with him. He misses him when he goes to bed on Wednesday night, and spends hours staring at the ceiling like some sappy rom-com heroine.

On Thursday, he almost calls him. Almost.

Courfeyrac flees to visit his parents, skipping a few days of uni just to not be around a jittery, nervous and irritable Enjolras, who is brooding on top of everything else.

On Friday, he is feeling brave, and before that short moment of bravery can fade, he calls Grantaire.

“Hello?”

His mouth goes dry, and he swallows harshly.

“Apollo? You there?”

“Yea” he manages to croak, and god he should really get his act together. It takes all his self-discipline not to say something incredibly stupid like _I miss you and I want you, like really, really want you_.

“I was...wondering whether you would like to watch the thunderstorm today and have some coffee. At my place. Like. The two of us. Um.”

He can hear the smile in Grantaire's voice when he answers. “Yea, I heard there is supposed to be a huge thing this afternoon. And coffee and thunderstorms are two of my favourite things. I'd love to.”

"How would your answer be if it would be a date?"

There is a beat of silence before Grantaire answers, his voice hesitating and curious. "You want to go on a date with me?"

Enjolras huffs a breath and rubs his face with his free hand. "If I said yes, hypothetically speaking, how big would the chance be that you'll never talk to me again?"

He hears the artist chuckle on the other end of the line. "About the chance of you going through Moulin Rouge with dry eyes."

"Is that a yes?"

"It is."

“Really?” His heart skips again, and he should really go ask Joly about this. This can't be healthy.

“Really. Your place at four?” How does Grantaire manage to be so calm and composed? How can his sentences make sense and everything while Enjolras is struggling to form a coherent thought?

“Sure” he replies after an embarrassingly long break. And now Grantaire surely thinks he's an idiot, and it was a mistake to call anyway. He should just tell him not to come.

Enjolras has already opened his mouth when Grantaire speaks again.

“Great. See you then.”

The line goes dead.

_Oh God._

Enjolras spends the next few hours feverishly cleaning the already spotless flat until it's perfect in an unsettling way. He stays in the shower forever, wondering if now would be a good moment to have a full-blown panic attack. In the end, he decides against it.

When there is a knock on his door, Enjolras nearly trips over his own feet while he rushes to open.

“Hi” he says, breathless, when he rips the door open and smiles at Grantaire.

Grantaire – and has he always looked that beautiful? - seems confused, to say the least, but he smiles as well. “Hi.”

Enjolras waves him in, and can barely rip his eyes off Grantaire when he takes his jacket off, toeing off his shoes at the same time. This shouldn't be fascinating, but it is. It's ridiculous.

“Wow, you really prepared this, huh?” Grantaire mumbles when he approaches the couch, which has been pushed in front of the living room window front. Blankets and pillows thrown on top, it looks like a perfect way to spend the afternoon. Grantaire sits down after Enjolras has offered him a seat and then walked over to the kitchen to make some coffee.

The dark-haired man wipes his hands on his jeans, trying to find a position that didn't make him feel terribly uncomfortable, and failing. He wrings his hands, watching Enjolras out of the corner of his eye, not daring to turn and look at him full-front. Well, this is awkward. The whole thing has got a certain date-vibe to it, with the pillows and the blankets and _watching a sodding thunderstorm together_ and everything. But he's not sure, and it's tearing at his nerves. Hard.

The simple task of not pulling Enjolras flush against him when he had opened the door has been hard enough. Of course he has to be wearing that red jumper today of all days, making him look even more gorgeous than usual. Which is a hard task to accomplish. He manages anyway. It's terribly unsettling.

Grantaire turns towards the open kitchen and is just about to open his mouth, asking what Enjolras is doing so long in the kitchen, when the music starts playing.

“Is that...” Grantaire stops talking when he recognises the song almost instantly. Eyes fixed on Enjolras, he sees him swallow hard, coming towards him with this unfamiliar uncertainty in his gaze.

“Do you...Would you mind?” He says it fast, and low, and then there's this hand stretched out towards Grantaire, and he has no idea what to do except untangle his legs from the blanket and approach him. Standing right in front of him, he raises his hand a bit, and looks at Enjolras's face, making sure he is not getting something terribly wrong. Because that would not only be awkward but also incredibly painful.

“Should I...?”

“Please” Enjolras says, and it's almost a moan, or maybe rather a whine, or a mixture of both. It doesn't really matter, Grantaire puts his hand on top of Enjolras's anyway, long slender fingers closing over his. He takes a step forward, into Enjolras's space, keeping his eyes on the blonde the whole time who really doesn't seem to mind. Which is confusing.

“Is this one of these cheesy cliché movie moments?” he asks lowly, putting his hand on the small of Enjolras's back, while their joined hands wander up to his chest, where he keeps them. They slowly start moving, and it's a left-to-right sway rather than an actual dance. It's perfect. Enjolras's free hand wanders to Grantaire's back, hesitating.

“I guess so” Enjolras replies, not more than a murmur. “I...just wanted to give you a slow-dance. Because you never had one.”

Grantaire smiles and squeezes Enjolras's hand softly, making his eyes dart up until their gazes meet.

“I thought you didn't like these cliché moments at all.” He cocks an eyebrow, and relishes in how a deep flush spreads on Enjolras's face and creeps down his neck, even under the neckline of his jumper.

“Actually, it's not so bad with you.” His voice is tiny, and his eyes are cast down, and Grantaire has never been in love with him as much as now.

“Is that so?” Grantaire says with a clearly mocking tone, his eyes still affectionate and warm.

“Do you know what would be super cliché?” he starts lowly after clearing his throat, and Enjolras frowns, as if he's trying to say _no I really have no idea._ Grantaire swallows, and pulls Enjolras just a tiny bit tighter before he stretches up a bit to reach up to his ear.

“If the idiot would finally get over himself, stop pining and get the guy with a great first kiss while there are fireworks in the background.” His voice is hoarse, and he probably sounds ridiculous, but Enjolras's breath is actually hitching before he chuckles.

“On the first date, R? That's a bit forward, isn't it?”

Grantaire laughs. “I think we both know by now that this is actually not our first date. Took us long enough to notice, by the way.”

Enjolras grins, and strokes his thumb over Grantaire's skin. “Yes, fair enough. I get your point. In your super cliché version, which one of us is the idiot?”

“Oh, I think we can share that. I don't know if there are any prizes for _Most oblivious dork in the history of mankind,_ though.”

Enjolras smiles down at Grantaire, sliding the hand that has been running up and down his spine to cup his face and stroke over his cheekbone. “So would it be alright if I make this totally cringe-worthy and kiss you?”

“Please do” he breathes, and most of it is lost in Enjolras's mouth anyway, but after their lips touch, Grantaire finds that it is hard to care about anything else than the blonde man in his arms. Enjolras's lips are soft, and he kisses him carefully, slowly. He kisses him like he really wants this, like he wants _Grantaire_ , like Grantaire means something to him. Grantaire tightens his embrace around Enjolras's waist, pulling him closer still, not planning on breathing anytime soon.

They both jump when the first roar of thunder crashes down, and Enjolras's flat is bathed in brightness from lightning. Grantaire can't help but laugh freely.

“Everybody can do fireworks. But a thunderstorm, now that's something to remember.” Enjolras grins happily, pulling him close again. And that's how they spend the next minutes, still swaying to the beat of the song in the background which runs on repeat, the room alternating between dim light and white brightness when lightning strikes.

When Enjolras pulls away slightly and opens his mouth, Grantaire frowns. “We need to talk about this.”

“And there we go”, Grantaire replies with a sigh. This is the moment when Enjolras tells him that this is nice and everything, but he really doesn't have time for that kind of distraction. He is not sure if he can take it.

Enjolras glares at him with a frown before he closes his eyes for a second and opens them again. The deep breath he takes is clearly audible even over the sound of occasional thunder and music. “I want to try this. I know you don't really want to talk about what you feel, and I know that I work a lot, with the ABC and uni and everything, and it's gonna take time for us to adjust. And we'll both need to make compromises, and it's not going to be easy. But I want to give this a chance. I want to have you with me, beside me. If that's what you want, too.”

He tries to get out of Grantaire's space when he is met with silence, his eyes cast down, his cheeks blushing. Grantaire doesn't let go. Because he doesn't want to let Enjolras go. Ever. It just takes him a moment until he finds his words.

“I have always wanted you, Enjolras. Always.”

It's not the most creative he could have come up, but it's everything the other man needs to hear. Their eyes lock, and there is some kind of mutual understanding which works without a single word more.

When their lips meet again, it means everything. It means _Sorry for wasting time. I'm glad I've got you. We'll figure it out somehow. It's going to be alright._ Maybe, possibly, even something like _I think I love you and I will tell you as soon as I'm not afraid to say it anymore._

They kiss slowly, almost lazily, because now that everything is said and done, at least for now, they have all the time in the world.

 


End file.
